


The Real Thing

by thanku4urlove



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Idols, Arguing as flirting, Boochan Bickering (tm), Coffee date, Enemies to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Friendship, Getting Together, Humor, Indie Artist Lee Chan | Dino, Kissing, M/M, Mentioned SEVENTEEN Ensemble, Romance, Solo Artist Boo Seungkwan, Twitter, or annoyances to lovers I guess, that seems a bit silly but I promise it makes sense, this kinda turned into Lee Chan Is Sexy: the fic but that's okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29446395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanku4urlove/pseuds/thanku4urlove
Summary: “Was that line about me?” Seungkwan had to ask, and Hansol and Jihoon both collapsed into laughter. Then he remembered the mockingly emotional expression Chan had used to say the line. Seungkwan almost felt like he’d been slapped. “Wait. Is this whole song supposed to be about me?”“Boo Seungkwan diss track!” Hansol exclaimed in excitement, slamming his hand against the table. “You’ve officially made it, man!”A "clapback" isn't as fun as Twitter makes it seem, but when indie artist Lee Chan releases a whole diss track that's seemingly about Seungkwan, what's he supposed to do, not respond? But the tweet gets too much attention, and now top idol Boo Seungkwan, responsible for his clean and cute image, has to do some damage control. His PR manager is telling him that he has to convince the public that he and Chan are best friends, so any online arguing can be written off as friendly banter, despite the fact that he's never actually met Chan before. Surprisingly—though reluctantly—Chan agrees to help.
Relationships: Boo Seungkwan/Lee Chan | Dino
Comments: 20
Kudos: 115





	The Real Thing

**Author's Note:**

> if you follow me on twitter, you might have noticed that i've kinda fallen in love with this ship. i was inspired by a prompt submission sent to the rare pair fest, but i ended up changing it quite a bit, and this was the result!! it was a joy to write though!
> 
> also: forsake and wifi belong to seungkwan now, because i said so.

“Five! Four! Three!” Each shouted number of the countdown echoed the click of a camera shutter. It was loud, and it was silly, and Seungkwan had to try hard not to laugh as he glanced Mingyu’s way, hoping his stifled expression wasn’t making these shots unusable. “Two! One!”

Then, as though he weren’t the one doing the countdown, Mingyu cheered when it was over, jumping forwards, bending his knees and throwing his arms up, letting his head fall back as his eyes squeezed closed. Seungkwan fully laughed at him then, hearing the staff around them laugh too.

“As Mingyu has so kindly counted down for us, that’s a wrap,” the photographer said. He, too, was smiling. Seungkwan smiled back; he’d worked with this man before, and he was nice enough. “The stylists will help you out of your outfits, then you’re free to leave.”

“Thank you!” Seungkwan made sure to say, bowing around the room, Mingyu following suit. The shoot for the magazine pictorial had taken all day, and Seungkwan was glad it was over; he was caked in makeup to keep the sweat from shining on his forehead and down the bridge of his nose, none of the clothes he’d had on all day had truly fit comfortably, and his feet were aching. 

“Good work today!” Mingyu told him as the two of them walked off set. Seungkwan smiled and thanked him, comfortable enough to let a bit of exhaustion seep into his expression. He’d worked with Mingyu on multiple occasions, and while he wasn’t sure he could quite call Mingyu a friend, Seungkwan liked him well enough too. 

“You too.” 

Modeling with Mingyu usually meant a pretty good day, as far as the actual work went. Mingyu had been in this profession for going on ten years, and was overwhelmingly friendly; he kept the energy up on shoots, and was very comfortable with standing in front of a camera and posing, often giving Seungkwan tips on how to angle his body or fix his expressions. 

At the same time though, modeling with Mingyu sometimes meant a bit of a bad day, too. Mingyu had been in this profession for going on ten years, snatched up off the streets by a modeling agency at just fourteen because he looked the part. Because he had always been, always was, and always would be just that conventionally attractive. Seungkwan knew that he himself was tall and fit and handsome, but next to supermodel Kim Mingyu, felt a little short and round and cute. That feeling was his own fault, not Mingyu’s, but it would still begin to wear on him after a couple of hours. And shooting for this magazine spread had taken _hours._

“I absolutely love the new OST you released!” Mingyu was saying excitedly, sliding his feet from the overpriced shoes he’d been in as a stylist pulled the coat off his shoulders. “I’ve been listening to it a lot when I’m cooking, and you sound really great. You always do, though.” 

“Oh wow, thanks.” Seungkwan genuinely hadn’t been expecting that. “Yeah, the OST was fun.” 

Mingyu continued to chat at him, and while Seungkwan tried to keep up with the conversation, he really just wanted to go home. When he was back in his own clothes he found his manager and bodyguard, the two talking to each other against the back wall. 

“Good job today,” Joshua told him, handing him first a water bottle, then his cell phone. “Something exciting must be happening; your phone keeps going off. Seungcheol wanted to snoop, but I told him no.”

Seungcheol, at least, had the decency to look a bit bashful as Seungkwan took his phone and pushed a button to light the screen up. 

He couldn’t help but smile. He had a handful of text messages and two missed calls from Hansol, all within a few minutes from each other, and all from a little over an hour ago. 

_1 Missed Call_

_From: Sollie  
_ _DUDE  
_ _DUDE_

_1 Missed Call_

_Oh shit that’s right you’re working  
_ _Sorry  
_ _Or actually Josh has your phone right now probably sorry Josh  
_ _Come to the Universe Factory when you’re done I have something absolutely hilarious to show you_

Coming from Hansol, “absolutely hilarious” could be literally anything, but Seungkwan was excited anyway. It was good to see Hansol after days like this. Hansol was his best friend, his rock, his most accessible link to the normal world. Hansol had been his friend since he was fourteen, from before he’d been scouted and picked up by one of the biggest entertainment companies in the country and made into a famous solo artist. Before fame had changed him. Because fame had, Seungkwan not naive enough to believe otherwise; he just had to make sure that this new form was someone he could live with, too. So far, he thought he was doing a pretty good job.

With Joshua in front of him and Seungcheol by his side—and Mingyu calling out a farewell, Seungkwan waving in response—Seungkwan gave Hansol a call. 

“Hey!” Hansol said happily, a smile in his voice. “You finally done for the day?”

“Yeah.” Seungcheol opened the door to the car, Seungkwan’s climbing in. “What’s going on?”

“What?” Hansol asked. 

“What do you mean, ‘what’?” Seungkwan asked back. “Do I still need to come to the Universe Factory?”

“I mean, you can, Jihoon and I are just hanging out, but—“

“No, you big dummy; you were texting me about something and wanted me to come. Is that still—?”

“Oh!” Hansol’s voice was loud in excitement as he cut off Seungkwan’s question. “Yes! Yes, definitely. _Oh man,_ it’s so funny.”

 _“Oh man_ yourself,” Seungkwan said, the English words feeling clumsy in his mouth, and Hansol laughed. “I’ll see you soon.”

He put the phone down to find Joshua looking at him, realizing he’d agreed to go somewhere without asking his manager first. He hadn’t thought he had anything else on his schedule, but still. 

“Can we go to the Universe Factory?” he asked, putting a bit of a whine in his voice. He reached over and poked Joshua’s shoulder. “Hansol will be there.”

“Yes, we can go,” Joshua said, rolling his eyes a bit and looking like he was embarrassing himself with his next words, but saying them anyway. “No need to bribe me.” 

The Universe Factory was where the genius producer Woozi lived, breathed, and worked. Seungkwan thought himself extremely fortunate to be one of the few artists that Woozi wrote for on the regular, the lyricist and producer behind most of his biggest hits. Seungkwan had been incredibly nervous about their first meeting—Woozi had been the one to reach out, requesting to meet him personally, saying that he’d been paying attention to Seungkwan for a while, and had written the song _Habit_ with his vocal color in mind—so Seungkwan had brought Hansol along as emotional support with Joshua and Seungcheol. Hansol was very good at breaking the ice, and Seungkwan was good at coasting on the waters of conversation once they started to flow, and thankfully, it had all gone very well. Seungkwan had even gotten permission to call Woozi “Jihoon” by the time _Habit_ was released, a privilege that Seungkwan knew the reclusive producer didn’t hand out lightly. 

Loud laughter was audible when Seungkwan walked into the studio, the door to the soundproof room beyond the entrance ajar, and he smiled at the sound, speeding his walk up to a light, skipping jog. Jihoon had taken a particular shine to Hansol, and the two of them often hung out one-on-one as well. Seungkwan didn’t mind, because to this day, he still found Jihoon to be a bit intimidating, and Jihoon liking Hansol so much helped dispel that, just a little. He’d even tried to push them closer, telling Jihoon that Hansol wrote and produced music too, despite Hansol’s vapid deflections that they were just simple raps he placed on SoundCloud. And sure, they were, but between Hansol’s association with Seungkwan—because they’d never tried to hide their friendship from the media—and Jihoon now sharing links to Hansol’s page every now and then, Hansol’s stage persona “Vernon” was now rising as an artist from “underground” to “up-and-coming”.

“I’m here!” Seungkwan announced, letting himself into the room. They were both by Jihoon’s computer, Jihoon sitting with Hansol standing next to him. Hansol’s arms opened automatically, Seungkwan stepping in close for a hug. “I’m tired though,” he pouted, his cheek against Hansol’s shoulder, “so this better be good.”

“Oh, you didn’t tell him?” Jihoon asked, while Joshua and Seungcheol entered behind them, greeting the two and getting waves in return. Hansol reached his hand back for a high five from Joshua, Joshua slapping him one, and shook his head at Jihoon’s question. 

“I haven’t told him anything.”

Jihoon grinned. The expression was frightening, Seungkwan unable to stand it. 

“Can you guys quit it and just tell me already?” 

In response, Jihoon turned his chair back to his computer and pulled up a minimized internet tab. On the screen was a fully played through YouTube video, prompting the watcher to replay something called _Lee Chan - “The Real Thing” Lyric Video._

“A song? Really?” Seungkwan gave Hansol a deadpan look. “This really couldn’t have happened over text? I could be in my pajamas with a moisturizing face mask on right now.” 

“You never listen to the songs I send you!” Hansol exclaimed, sounding genuinely hurt.

“Because your music taste is weird!” Seungkwan exclaimed back. “I was forced to listen to San E’s _Rap Circus_ on repeat for like a year because of you. I don’t trust you anymore.” 

“That was seven years ago!” Hansol protested.

“Hey, good song,” Jihoon pointed out. Hansol raised a hand to slap him a high five. Jihoon held up a scissors sign instead, Hansol held up rock, and Jihoon fist bumped him.

“I can’t stand either of you,” Seungkwan said with a sigh, draping his upper body dramatically across the back of Jihoon’s chair—and, by extension, on Seungcheol’s hands; Seungcheol and Joshua had also drawn closer to listen to this song. “Just play the video already.”

Jihoon did. It was a rap song which, coming from Hansol, Seungkwan had expected. Despite declaring itself to be a lyric video, the artist was in it, sitting in a chair in a darkly lit room with a microphone in his hand. The lyrics were shown across the bottom of the screen, but this Lee Chan was also putting on a bit of a performance; lip synching to the words, almost too passionate to keep himself in the chair as he sang. 

It wasn’t a bad song. Seungkwan quite liked the singing choral line, the clapping, and the electric guitar elements used in the backing track, finding some of the wordplay and turns of phrases genuinely witty. But he guessed that this man was an indie artist, partially because Seungkwan had never heard of him, and partially because the song was all about shaming large K-Pop corporations and the idols that worked within them, about pulling yourself up by your bootstraps and doing the work on your own. It rubbed Seungkwan the wrong way, just a bit, to have this man completely dismissing his life story, wondering why Hansol had so wanted to show this to him and what was so funny about it.

Both Hansol and Jihoon were wearing identical expressions of vindictive anticipation, and when what it was they were anticipating came up, it was obvious; Hansol yelled out “this verse!” while Jihoon turned the volume up. Seungkwan focused on the screen, willing enough to play along, watching as the beat jumped a bit and Lee Chan held his microphone with both hands, putting on a pseudo-soulful face as he turned fully to the camera. 

“I _know-oh-oh-oh_ you have 5G, yet you’re up on your high horse trying to ‘forsake’ me.”

Seungkwan’s mouth fell open, Hansol and Jihoon both turning to him with excited grins.

It wasn’t that the lyric was revolutionary. It wasn’t really even that clever, truth be told, but Seungkwan recognized himself in both parts of the phrase. In the first half, Lee Chan had drawn the word “know” out, stuttering on it four times, and when combined with the use of “5G” was all Seungkwan needed to know that it was a reference to a song of his own, an extremely viral ballad he’d released last year called _Wi-fi._ In the second half of the verse, Chan had fully name-dropped _Forsake,_ a ballad that, to this day, was Seungkwan’s most popular release. It was also a personal favorite, so it was nice to see the song top the charts at least once a year without fail. 

“Was that line about _me?”_ Seungkwan had to ask, and Hansol and Jihoon both collapsed into laughter. Then he remembered the mockingly emotional expression Chan had used to say the line. “Was that face he made about me?”

Hansol was howling, even Joshua and Seungcheol laughing along, Jihoon giggling from his computer chair. 

“Wait a minute.” The song was wrapping up, Lee Chan declaring himself to be _the real thing,_ possessing passion and talent, especially next to the money-making hacks churned out by entertainment companies. Seungkwan almost felt like he’d been slapped. “Is this _whole song_ supposed to be about me?”

“Boo Seungkwan diss track!” Hansol exclaimed in excitement, slamming his hand against the table. “You’ve officially made it, man!” 

Seungkwan pulled a face. “Is this like… A thing? Do I need to respond or something? Oh god, do I need to write a diss track back?”

Jihoon made a noise that suggested he’d just been wounded, especially with the way he curled in on himself; it actually took a moment for Seungkwan to realize that he was laughing instead. 

“Please do. _Please._ If you write and release a diss track, I’ll produce your next song for free. I swear, I’ll do it.” 

“Come on!” Hansol exclaimed, elbowing Seungkwan in the side when he saw him frowning. “Don’t be so sensitive. Isn’t this kind of cool?”

It was, if Seungkwan thought about it that way. It was pretty awesome that he was so successful that he had people he didn’t even know rapping about disliking him for nearly four full minutes. On a normal day, he might even feel smug about it, and would enjoy it the same way Hansol and Jihoon were. But after the day he’d spent feeling relatively inadequate, someone rubbing his nose in the fact that he had a large corporation to thank for the majority of his success instead of his own hard work was upsetting him.

“It’s kind of genius, really, the way he actually twists the backing track here…” Jihoon was saying, going back to the anti-Seungkwan-specific part of the song, and Seungkwan drew away, feeling a bit unable to take it anymore. He pulled his phone out with a huff, deciding to look up this “Lee Chan”. 

He found the YouTube channel first. Music production, apparently, was a relatively new thing for this artist; he’d mostly been posting dance covers and choreography videos, something that he still did now, along with the music videos and lyric videos for his songs. Lee Chan’s Twitter account was the second discovery Seungkwan made, and the pinned tweet was a link to _The Real Thing,_ which had been released today, just a couple of hours ago. 

“I’m thinking of doing something petty,” he warned the room at large, glancing up at Joshua, “and you can’t stop me.”

“Well, at least you’re thinking,” Joshua responded with a sigh. Seungkwan shot him a glare, while Hansol held up his hand for another high five.

Seungkwan hit “quote tweet” on the tweet containing the _The Real Thing_ link, and typed out a response. 

_Really wanted to grab attention with this one, huh? Luckily for you, I love doing charity work._

It was kind of satisfying, the way every single phone in the room buzzed with an alert from Twitter after he sent the tweet out. Seungkwan hadn’t even known Jihoon had him on notifications. When Jihoon did see the tweet though, he nearly choked on his tongue and fell out of his chair. It wasn’t a diss track, so it wouldn’t get him a free song, but apparently, he still liked it well enough.

It took about two minutes for Jeonghan to call him. 

“So, the kiss emoji at the end of that tweet was a bit much,” he said, when Seungkwan picked up. 

“Really?” 

“No!” There was a loud thunk in the background, and Seungkwan winced. “All of it was! What the hell were you thinking?!” 

“I—he was—” trying to say “he started it” felt childish. Jeonghan didn’t wait for Seungkwan to finish, letting out a lengthy sigh. 

“If this was your first offence, it would be fine. But Seungkwan, I just worked _so_ hard, for two full years straight, to bring your image back. If this blows up into something, I won’t let the media kill you. They won’t get the chance, because I’ll have done it already.”

Though Jeonghan’s voice wasn’t raised, his tone wasn’t kind, and Seungkwan remembered all over again just how much he hated getting yelled at.

Yoon Jeonghan was his Public Relations manager. Two years ago and a rising star in the variety world, Seungkwan had been invited on a variety live show with a handful of other artists, hosted by a beloved male soloist-turned-variety personality. The man was usually rude, but always in a way that was played off as comedic, and since he was so well respected in the industry, Seungkwan had always put up with him and tried to smile. But when the man had berated the attending girl group for the third time in two hours about managing their weight right in front of him, Seungkwan had gone off, just a little bit. 

Weight was a bit of a sensitive topic for him too, but even if it wasn’t, Seungkwan knew that he probably would have said something anyway. The women had just looked so incredibly uncomfortable, trying to laugh off the “joke” and offering up awkward smiles. He hadn’t even gotten through half of what he’d wanted to say before remembering himself and reeling back in, and while the comments Seungkwan had made defending the girls had garnered him a fair amount of praise from women online—and that girl group’s fans declaring themselves lifelong fans of his too—the move hadn’t boded quite as well in the entertainment world. Sure, Boo Seungkwan may have won himself the “Rookie of the Year” for his variety skills, but he was now also pegged for having an “attitude problem”, and getting him as a guest wasn’t worth the chance of being yelled at on live television. Especially for something as minor as telling what many of the other male veteran entertainers considered an off-color joke at best, and genuinely helpful criticism at worst.

“If we lose another brand deal, the company will have both of our heads,” Jeonghan told him. “And Joshua’s, too.”

“I’m sorry,” Seungkwan said softly, and Jeonghan sighed. “I was just trying to be funny. Should I delete it?”

“No.” Jeonghan’s tone was clipped. “That would look bad. Seungkwan, who even—this video has less than a hundred thousand views on it. At least, it did before you set your fans on this guy. How did you even find this?”

“Hansol found it. He and Jihoon showed it to me.”

“I know him!” Hansol exclaimed quickly, and Seungkwan switched his phone to speaker mode. “Lee Chan. He’s a friend of mine.”

“What?” Seungkwan yelped. He knew that Hansol had his own friends, people he knew that Seungkwan didn’t, but this felt a bit like a betrayal.

“Yeah. You know that dance studio I started going to this past year? He’s there all the time,” Hansol shrugged. “We hang out. He’s cool.” 

“We can use this,” Jeonghan said, Seungkwan grateful for the switch in his voice; Jeonghan had gone from reprimanding mode to scheming mode, meaning a solution to the problem was in the works. Jeonghan really was excellent at public relations. “Hansol, do you have pictures of yourself with him?” 

“Of course, yeah.” 

“Is there any chance you have a picture of this guy and Seungkwan together?”

“Maybe…?” The indecisiveness in Hansol’s tone had the word slipping off into a question, pulling his cell phone out. “They’ve never met, but there’s a chance. I’ll look for something.”

“While he does that, Seungkwan, you need to call off your fans,” Jeonghan said, his voice all business. “They’re really tearing this guy apart. ‘Top idol Boo Seungkwan cyberbullies indie artist on Twitter’ is a pretty shitty news headline.” 

“Right.” Seungkwan didn’t really trust himself to make another tweet. “What should I say?”

“That it was a joke. That you didn’t mean it rudely. And then promote him, but in a nice way, because this dislike bar is terrifying right now. Say that you’re friends; that’s the angle we’re going to go with, since Hansol knows him personally. Whatever he decides to respond with is something we can spin into friendly banter.” 

That would probably work. Seungkwan was known, just a bit, for “gently bullying” his friends, nagging at them and picking inconsequential fights. It was how he showed affection, and the people he loved knew that, but it was only ever really on display for the media through Hansol, since he was the friend that never really shied away from the VLive camera or fantaken photos. Some antis over the years had tried to spin it into hate speech, had tried to convince the public that Hansol was in an abusive friendship with him, but every single time Hansol rebutted the idiots with pictures, video footage, and deadpan responses about how wrong they were. Seungkwan loved him dearly for it. If they could play this off to be a similar situation, it might just be believable. 

Seungkwan had every single person in the room proofread the tweet before sending it out. 

_Boosadans! Don’t be mean to @leejungchan! I was just teasing him~ He’s a very talented friend!! Please give “The Real Thing” lots of love!_

He added the link for the video, and watched as the tweet was reacted to. 

“Found one!” Hansol exclaimed, his voice loud in victory. 

“Wait, seriously?” Seungkwan had no idea he’d ever been in the same room as Lee Chan before. Hansol nodded and showed him the picture, but it just made Seungkwan frown at him. “That’s not very convincing.”

It was a commemorative photo Seungkwan had taken with a dance class at the studio that Hansol now went to. Seungkwan was in the middle, one arm around the girl that had requested the picture, the other over Hansol’s shoulders. Chan was hard to spot, in the far corner and all the way in the back.

“Well, since the two of you have never spoken to each other, whatever it is, it’ll have to do,” Jeonghan said. “Send it to me.” 

“Oh, wait! I facetimed him that week I babysat Bookeu for your family, and I took a screenshot,” Hansol showed him another picture. This one was much better, Chan’s beaming face taking up the screen—he was obviously mid-laugh—with Bookeu’s curious, fluffy little face in the self-camera in the top corner. Bookeu was well-known by Seungkwan’s fanbase; as long as they pretended it was Seungkwan that Chan had been in a video call with, then this photo would be perfect. 

“Send Seungkwan whatever you have, and he’ll forward it to me,” Jeonghan requested. “Then give this Lee Chan a call and tell him to get ready for a photo op.”

“What?” Hansol and Seungkwan both asked in unison.

“Well, he’s your friend now, isn’t he?” Jeonghan asked. “So the two of you are going to be spotted together. I’m thinking next week, in the evening. You can go to a café or something.” 

“Jeonghan—” Seungkwan started. 

“Nope!” Jeonghan cut him off. “You dug yourself into this mess. I’m digging you out of it. You are not allowed to protest. And if you don’t get access to your Twitter account after this, don’t come crying to me.”

Then he hung up. They did as Jeonghan asked: Hansol sent Seungkwan various pictures of Chan, and Seungkwan forwarded them to Jeonghan. He couldn’t help but wince, though, when Hansol dialed Chan’s number and stepped out into the hallway, Seungkwan and Joshua following, putting Chan on speaker for everyone’s benefit. 

“Hey,” Chan sounded a bit strange. “Are you the reason I’m trending on YouTube and Twitter right now? Because it’s freaking me out.”

“Uh… Yeah,” Hansol said, “listen—you know those tweets Seungkwan made?”

“About how he thinks I’m a charity case, but we’re friends now?” Chan asked. Seungkwan winced again. 

“Yeah, well… His company is pissed off.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Chan exclaimed back. “What the fuck—”

“Not at you! Not at you,” Seungkwan couldn’t help himself, jumping in quickly. “They’re mad at me. This is my fault.”

“Hello?” Chan asked, and Seungkwan realized that Chan didn’t know who he was now talking to.

“It’s, um. Me.”

“Me?”

“Uh… Seungkwan? Boo Seungkwan?”

“You can’t just say ‘me’ and expect me to recognize your speaking voice,” Chan told him. “You’re not _that_ popular.” 

That wasn’t at all how people usually reacted when they found out that it was him they were talking to on the phone. Seungkwan found it kind of refreshing, somehow. 

“Well, since Lee Chan, Chwe Hansol, and Boo Seungkwan are the only people in this equation, and you already had two out of three, I figured you could put the pieces together,” he responded. Then he remembered what this call was about, and took a breath. He didn’t need to offend Chan. Not again. 

“Hey, two out of three is pretty good, though,” Chan argued, before Seungkwan could change the subject. “It’s still more than half.”

“It’s not a pass, though. Sixty-six percent? Besides, one of the people is you, and the other one you had caller ID for, so I don’t know if that counts.” 

“Don’t we have a photo op to talk about?” Joshua interrupted.

“Okay, and who is this guy?” Chan asked. “Yang Da Il?” 

Joshua took the phone from Hansol’s hand. “Hello Lee Chan, this is Boo Seungkwan’s manager.”

His tone was much more businesslike, and Chan seemed to notice, going quiet. 

“Uh, hi,” he finally said. 

“As Hansol and Seungkwan tried to explain, the company isn’t pleased with the way Seungkwan has decided to interact with you on social media, and we are wondering if you would be comfortable going on an outing with him.”

“A… What?”

“They want the two of you pictured together, to dispel any rumors of animosity.”

“Okay?” 

Chan sounded hesitant, and Seungkwan understood that. Joshua’s “manager” persona was polite, but not extremely personable; he was very clear, to the point, and liked to use big words. It was incredibly helpful sometimes, cutting in when Seungkwan was trying to speak to someone he had a business connection with and got himself caught up in a loop of trying way too hard to be way too nice.

“And because you are considered to be somewhat of a public figure, the photographs of the two of you would most likely be spread to news sites without your consent. If you’re comfortable with that.”

“Is… Is anyone comfortable with that?” Chan asked. Seungkwan wanted to say that it was just part of the job, but he held his tongue. It was his fault Chan was in this mess. Kind of. Mostly. “Is this actually a big deal?” 

“It could be,” Joshua said, “and we would appreciate your cooperation.” 

Seungkwan hadn’t felt like this big of an idiot in a while. He couldn’t say he’d missed the feeling.

“Am I allowed to respond to those tweets?” Chan asked. 

“We cannot control what you decide to do online,” Joshua told him, and Seungkwan felt the need to jump in again. 

“My company could sue for defamation though, so be careful.”

“Be careful? Are you threatening me now?” Chan asked.

“No! I—I don’t know how they’ll decide to react to this, I’m just—I was trying to be helpful! Does everything have to be a fight with you?” 

“You started it.”

“I’m pretty sure that writing a whole four minute song insulting _me_ counts as starting it.”

“A whole—” Hansol took the phone off speaker, pressing it to his ear and taking a few steps away from them. 

“I know. Yeah. Yes, but—Chan.” Only hearing half of the conversation wasn’t very helpful, and Seungkwan exchanged a look with Joshua. There probably wasn’t much they could do, so they re-entered the studio, Jihoon and Seungcheol turning their way. 

“What happened?” Seungcheol asked. 

“Did you get fired?” Jihoon wanted to know. 

“Not yet,” Joshua answered. “Hansol is still talking to the Chan guy, but—”

Joshua was cut off as Hansol threw the door open, double fists in the air. 

“He agreed to it!” Hansol said, pointing to Seungkwan. “You have a date on Thursday.” 

“Wait, seriously?”

Hansol nodded. “He said he’s replying to the tweet, too.”

Quickly, Seungkwan checked his phone. Sure enough, Chan had quote-tweeted Seungkwan’s sweet and supportive tweet, the response incredibly dry. 

_[read at 7:16pm]_

Seungkwan actually almost laughed. Instead, he attached the FaceTime screenshot with Bookeu in his response. It was the best “please believe that Lee Chan is my friend” photo that he had, and Jeonghan wanted him to use it as soon as possible.

_Respond to me!! Or Bookeu will be sad!!!!_

This time, Chan’s response was quick. 

_Follow me on twitter then._

He’d added emoji with the squeezed-closed eyes and the stuck-out tongue. Seungkwan hadn’t realized how strange it looked, the fact that they didn’t follow each other, but he couldn’t start following him now; that would look even stranger. He had to think of something else. 

_Not unless you follow me first!_

Seungkwan was surprised to feel Hansol’s finger poke his cheek.

“What?” He asked, because his friend was looking at him strangely. 

“You’re smiling,” Hansol told him.

“So?” 

Hansol just shrugged. Seungkwan had another response from Chan. 

_never!_

  
  


The next morning, Seungkwan woke up with a text from Jeonghan. All the message contained was a link to an article from some cheap K-Pop gossip magazine, the headline bolded. 

**Everything You Need To Know About Seungkwan’s New Best Friend Lee Chan!**

Seungkwan groaned, shoving his face into his pillow. 

The article was informative though, Seungkwan reading through it multiple times—and fact-checking it with Hansol—as Thursday approached. He was actually feeling a bit nervous about the whole thing, especially on Wednesday afternoon, staring down the empty ‘New Tweet’ box on his phone. He was going to send a tweet to Chan, asking him to hang out. It was all performative—Jeonghan had already coordinated a meetup at a coffee shop a few blocks away from where Seungkwan’s last schedule was going to be—but the media needed to know. 

_@leejungchan if you’re reading this i am free on thursday night. if you would like to hang out i am free on thursday night when i am free to hang out. i am free to hang out on thursday night so if you want to hang out on thursday night i am free._

“A meme? You’re going with a copypasta?” Jeonghan asked, while Hansol lost it with laughter in the chair next to him. 

“You know what a meme is?” Hansol asked Jeonghan. Jeonghan blinked at him.

“How old do you think I am?” he asked back. “You know that meme usually implies that you want to go on a date, right Seungkwan?” 

Seungkwan felt himself go pink, covering his face with his phone screen. He’d hoped Jeonghan wouldn’t notice that. 

“Well I already—I already sent it, so—”

“I’m not complaining,” Jeonghan said airily, his eyes on his own phone screen. “Just pointing it out.” 

“Don’t scare me like that!” Seungkwan whined, and Hansol laughed. 

A response didn’t come until Seungkwan was en route to his first schedule of the day, and Seungcheol had to thump him on the back, Joshua looking from the road to glance at him, when Seungkwan opened the tweet and promptly choked on his water. 

Chan had posted a grumpy-looking, freshly woken up picture of himself, squinting at his phone screen. His hair was dyed a dark brown and was falling in front of his face, one half-open eye visible and looking at the camera. He was lying on his front, propped up on his elbows with his bedsheets around him and a white tank top on, the shirt loose and deep enough to show a large amount of chest, defined muscular arms, and even one of his nipples. 

Seungkwan had noticed during _The Real Thing_ video that Chan was an attractive guy, sure, but the lighting had been dramatic and he’d been a bit too distracted by the content of the song to actually pay attention. But Chan… Chan was _hot._ And Seungkwan was so, so, _painfully_ gay. 

It took a moment for Seungkwan to remember that this had been in response to his earlier tweet, and that there were words attached, and that he should stop staring at Chan’s slightly parted lips and actually read them. 

_@Boo_Seungkwan you want to make me leave my apartment today? really?_

It took twenty minutes for Seungkwan to take a responding selfie that he deemed acceptable, and he was stepping out of his car, Seungcheol’s hand on his lower back, as he tweeted a response. He was pouting in the picture, angling his eyebrows angrily.

_@leejungchan Stop being a butt and hang out with me!!!!_

This response was much quicker. 

_@Boo_Seungkwan fine. text me the details_

He ended the tweet with a thumbs up emoji, and Seungkwan was surprised by Chan’s ability to put up a front like this; everything in that tweet was a lie. Chan already had all of the details, given to him through Hansol days before, and Seungkwan didn’t even have his phone number. Seungkwan wondered briefly if he should change that and find a way to get Chan’s digits, but by the time that thought crossed his mind he’d entered the building, and had to begin mentally preparing himself to let Dingo mess with him for at least the next 5 hours. 

The shoot ended up going very well—he even managed to drag Joshua and Seungcheol into some of the activities, something he knew his fans would love; some people absolutely adored the two of them, and one of Seungkwan’s favorite pastimes was finding “Joshua Hong x Reader” fanfiction on the internet and reading it out loud while Joshua was trying to drive—but shooting the video took longer than both Seungkwan and Dingo had anticipated. He barely had time for lunch on his way to his next location, having to eat a quick bowl of salad in the car, but he figured this was better for the diet that his company had put him on, so as much as he didn’t like it, he tried not to complain.

“Did all this have to happen on the same day?” Seungkwan groaned as they got into the car again. He’d just finished shooting a short promotional video for a brand deal that was going up on his Instagram, standing in some field somewhere, and now had to go back to the company building for a meeting. “I’m free for a whole week afterwards, but all of this has to happen today. I can’t even go home after this.”

“You’re doing a great job,” Seungcheol told him, rubbing the top of Seungkwan’s thigh as Seungkwan let out a sigh, resting his head on Seungcheol’s shoulder. He was glad that Seungcheol understood and indulged his tactile tendencies; he’d had some staff members in the past that hadn’t liked it, but Seungcheol was comfortably snuggly, like he was. “Plus, meeting Chan could be fun. It could be a nice way to end the day.” 

Seungcheol was being optimistic so Seungkwan didn’t critique the attitude, trying to hang onto it instead as the day progressed. By the time he was supposed to meet up with Chan it was very late, the sun down and their café meeting spot completely empty. Or, almost completely empty; Chan was the only one there, in a back corner, his shoulders a bit hunched, a coffee on the table in front of him. 

He looked up when Seungkwan entered, eyeing him hesitantly. 

“I didn’t know we were allowed to bring friends,” he remarked when Seungkwan was close enough, and it took Seungkwan a moment to realize that Chan was talking about Joshua and Seungcheol, who took seats together a few tables away.

“I—oh, no,” he waved a hand, “they—well, they are my friends, but they have to come with me.” 

Chan raised an eyebrow. Seungkwan pulled out the chair across the table from Chan, sitting down.

“The twink is my manager, and the twunk is my bodyguard,” he explained, and Chan let out a quick bark of laughter, the sound bringing a smile to Seungkwan’s face. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Especially if Chan laughed again; the sound was light and bright, and the smile on Chan’s face was a little bit incredible. Seungkwan almost wished he hadn’t noticed this morning how attractive Chan was, because now his brown eyes and pink lips were very distracting. “I’m kind of… I’m not really allowed to go anywhere by myself.”

“Oh. That sucks. We’re not really alone now anyway, though,” Chan said, glancing around again. “I’ve seen three different people with cameras already.”

He looked incredibly uneasy, Seungkwan glancing around too. He couldn't see anyone with how dark it was outside, and he hadn’t noticed paparazzi while walking in, but he was much more used to it than Chan was, he figured. He wasn’t so sensitive to it anymore.

“You should’ve worn a hat,” he told Chan, pointing to his own navy ball cap. “It lets you hide a little.”

“Thanks.” Chan’s voice was a little dry. “That helps. I’ll just pull the hat I brought with me out of my pocket.”

“Well, now you know, okay? For next time, or whatever.” Seungkwan huffed at Chan’s sarcasm. “Here, wear mine.” 

He pulled his hat off, trying to hand it over as he messed with his hair with the fingers of his free hand. Hopefully it didn’t look too bad, and that some of the styling he’d gone through today had held up, but he was a little too tired from the day to care too much; he probably didn’t look terrible, and the paparazzi had caught him half asleep and in his pajamas at the airport before, so not much would be worse than that. 

Chan didn’t take it, looking at him for a moment. 

“Don’t you need it?” he asked, and Seungkwan waved a hand. 

“I’m used to this. You’re not. Here.” He shook the hat at him, and after another second, Chan took the cap. He ran his fingers through his own hair and Seungkwan watched the action, watched how incredibly soft Chan’s hair looked. He wanted to run his fingers through it too. Then Chan pulled the hat on, and Seungkwan tried to fight the feeling down.

“Thanks.” 

“I’m Boo Seungkwan,” Seungkwan felt the need to say. This, technically, was the first time he was meeting Chan, and it felt a bit strange that conversation had been so smooth already, without any introductions having been said.

“I know,” Chan responded. “I’m Lee Chan.”

“I know,” Seungkwan echoed, hoping that might get a smile, but it didn’t. Chan was glancing around again, and Seungkwan didn’t like how uneasy he looked. “Sorry to inconvenience you like this.” 

Chan just shrugged, the reaction a bit of a surprise. Usually, when he apologized, Seungkwan got waved off and told things were fine. Obviously, Chan didn’t feel that way.

“I’m just here because Hansol asked me to be,” he said. The words weren’t said impolitely, but Seungkwan still found them a bit disgruntling.

“Well, I don’t want to be here either,” Seungkwan told him. 

“Oh, did you have a long and busy day being rich and famous?” Chan asked. That turned Seungkwan’s disgruntlement into mild offense, and Seungkwan wanted to say “I did!”, but that felt immature. It actually took a moment for him to find his voice.

“Did I… Have I done something to you, and I just don’t remember?” he asked. “Did I offend you, somehow?” 

“Is that a common occurrence?” Chan asked back. “Are you so famous that you don’t remember your fans?” 

“Don’t pretend you’re my fan,” Seungkwan retorted, rolling his eyes. “Shut up.” 

The words were biting, but Seungkwan had intended them to be, because Chan wasn’t exactly being nice to him either. For some reason though, he saw what he thought might be the slightest of smiles on Chan’s lips. The air was a bit tense, like this conversation could turn for the worse at any moment, the feeling putting a tight thrum through Seungkwan’s chest. He tried to tell himself that finding Chan attractive wasn’t a factor in the tension he was feeling, but then Chan took the cap off and shook his hair loose, running his fingers through it a couple of times as he tilted his head back, and no, yeah. Chan was hot. 

“Right, I’m not your fan.” Chan slid the hat back on. “I’m your new best friend. Which was super weird, by the way. You shouldn’t just spring that on people.” 

“Well, I’m not allowed to use my Twitter account without supervision anymore, so you won’t need to worry about it again,” Seungkwan said, trying not to sound bitter. Chan raised his eyebrows a second time.

“You can’t go places alone, and you can’t use your own Twitter account? They’re really that concerned? What’s the worst that could happen?” 

“Well, I don’t mind the company,” Seungkwan said. He’d seen Seungcheol completely bodycheck a woman old enough be his mother before, when he’d been mobbed at the airport. Between stalkers, sasaengs, and general loneliness, Seungkwan was grateful to have Joshua and Seungcheol around him. “But haven’t you heard? I have an attitude problem.” 

Chan laughed again. “Yeah, I can believe that.” 

“Oh, shut up!” Seungkwan exclaimed, but he laughed too. “God, I can’t stand you. You have one too.” 

“I do?” 

“Obviously! This wouldn’t have happened if not for you. I wouldn’t have had anything to respond to if you hadn’t made that song about me.”

Chan sat back in his chair, his smile gone, and Seungkwan worried, all of a sudden, that he’d gone too far.

“It is so incredibly vain that you think that song is about you,” Chan told him, and Seungkwan blinked.

“What do you mean? The reference is obvious.”

“You really think so?” Chan asked. Seungkwan had no idea what Chan was talking about, simply nodding after a moment, and Chan shrugged. “Alright. I’m not going to argue. If the shoe fits, you might as well wear it.”

“Are you—are you actually mad at me for getting offended by a hit piece that _you_ wrote? I might be a public figure, but I fucking have feelings,” Seungkwan said. “I can only get called a fraud so many times.” 

Seungkwan knew that he probably shouldn’t have cursed, that the rude language wasn’t a good sign when it came to maintaining civil conversation, but he couldn’t help it. 

“I never once said your name,” Chan pointed out.

“You didn’t have to!” Seungkwan exclaimed at him. “You think that what, I’m not a real singer because I don’t write my own music? How stupid are you? I have—I have friends that are songwriters, but not singers themselves, and you should see the looks on their faces when they hear their music come to life.”

“It was just a song, honestly—”

“So? It still hurts.” Seungkwan hadn’t expected himself to be so sensitive about this. He knew, partially, that his reaction was coming from the long day he’d had, and that he’d probably had too many long days in a row, but knowing that didn’t make it easier to pull back. 

“I’m not saying it’s not nice for you to sing someone else’s music,” Chan said. “I’m not saying you’re not talented. But you were created to make money, not music. And as soon as you can’t generate revenue for your company anymore, they’ll drop you. That’s the whole reason you’re hanging out with me in the first place, isn’t it? To protect your image?”

Seungkwan simply stared at him, the words stinging in his chest. 

“I thought we were having a nice conversation,” he said after a moment.

“We were,” Chan answered, “but I don’t really like being used like this. I don’t owe you any favors.” 

Seungkwan had a couple of things that he felt he could say to that. That this meetup was putting Chan’s name out there, and into the spotlight. That it was thanks to Seungkwan that Chan’s new song had gotten so much attention and news coverage over the past week. But looking back on those retorts had Seungkwan feeling a bit sick to his stomach, the train of thought so status-focused and self-centered, and he immediately felt like he had to leave, pulling his phone from his pocket and putting it to his ear.

“What are you doing?” Chan asked him. 

“Pretending to get a call, so that storming out won’t look suspicious,” Seungkwan told him, the words feeling tight, and then he was out the door, Joshua and Seungcheol hurrying after him. 

Seungkwan was woken up the next morning by a call from Jeonghan.

“It didn’t work.” 

“What?” The words were too vague to make sense in Seungkwan’s sleepy brain. 

“Meeting with Chan,” Jeonghan clarified. “It didn’t work.”

“What?” Seungkwan rolled onto his back, frowning. “We talked, and—and laughed and stuff. It was fine.” 

“Sure, but then you got mad at him and stormed out,” Jeonghan said. “All of it was photographed, Seungkwan.”

“How could they know?” Seungkwan asked indignantly, sitting up in bed. “They couldn’t hear what we were saying, I was civil—”

“Yeah, but it needed to go perfectly,” Jeonghan said. “You two needed to be disgustingly friendly for this to work, and the media isn’t convinced. Tabloids think it’s suspicious that they haven’t seen the two of you together until now, and their current working theory is that you two don’t actually get along, and that it’s all staged. Which... They’re right, but that doesn’t help us.” 

“So what am I supposed to do?” Seungkwan asked. He felt like he already knew the answer, and was dreading it, but he needed to hear it from Jeonghan or he knew he wouldn’t follow through.

“You have to hang out with him again. And be cute, this time.”

Seungkwan decided to go to Hansol’s, rolling on the floor in despair for a solid thirty minutes before biting the bullet and calling Chan with Hansol’s phone. Chan picked up quickly, and didn’t seem surprised that it was Seungkwan on the other end. 

“You’ve seen the news too, then?” he asked without preamble. Seungkwan was quiet for a long moment. 

“I’m sorry for cursing at you,” he said. “And… And for calling you stupid. And then storming out. I am, I really am.”

“Your boss wants us to hang out again, huh.”

It wasn’t a question, and Seungkwan let out a groan. 

“Yes,” he admitted. “But that’s not why I’m apologizing, I promise. I would have apologized anyway.” 

“Well, thanks,” Chan finally said. “I guess.”

“I did have a long day, being all rich and famous,” Seungkwan said, trying to make the words a bit of a joke. Chan didn’t laugh, so Seungkwan couldn’t tell if he was successful or not. “And… I know that’s not an excuse, but it’s a reason. I’m not usually mean. At least, I like to think I’m not.” 

Chan was quiet for a long moment, and nerves started to curl in Seungkwan’s stomach. He decided then and there that he wasn’t going to force Chan to hang out with him, that he couldn’t do something like that, but he was afraid of what Jeonghan would say—or do—when Chan inevitably said that didn’t want to see him. 

“So, when are you free?” Chan finally asked. “Where do you want to go?”

“What?” Seungkwan asked. The questions didn’t make sense.

“You’re the superstar,” Chan told him. “You must have a busier schedule than me. So when are you free next week?”

“Wait, you…” Seungkwan still couldn’t believe it. “You actually want to go out with me? Are you sure?”

“Well hey, don’t ask it like that,” Chan said. “I just—obviously, this matters to you. And I don’t want to have to live with the idea that something shitty happened to your career over this, because it really doesn’t… It doesn’t matter _that_ much to me, so…” he trailed off, and Seungkwan could almost hear him shrugging. “Plus, maybe it was a little fun to be yelled at by you.”

Seungkwan was completely speechless. The last sentence was ringing in his mind, and he felt he had to physically stop himself from interpreting the statement as flirtatious. He was quiet for a little too long, and Chan obviously noticed, his voice a bit awkward when he broke the silence. 

“And I need to give you your hat back. So answer my question.”

“I—right, um—” Seungkwan flustered at the order, and Hansol laughed from somewhere behind him, Seungkwan reaching out an arm to hit at him. “This upcoming week isn’t too bad for me, actually; every evening after eight should be fine.” 

“Wow, am I actually busier than you?” Chan sounded surprised. “Alright, is Monday okay?” 

“Monday is great.” 

“Where?” 

“Well, you had to travel to meet me last time, so what’s a good place for you?” 

Chan was quiet for a moment. “Why don’t you meet me at the studio?”

“The studio?”

“The dance studio I go to. You know it, right? Since Hansol goes there.”

“Oh, right. Yeah.” Seungkwan didn’t know the address. He’d ask Hansol for it. “So, the studio, Monday, at around eight-thirty?”

“Sure. But we have to be photographed, so we’ll go on a walk or something?” 

“Okay.” Seungkwan could barely believe how smoothly this conversation was going. 

“Cool.” There was a sound somewhere in the background, some muffled speaking, then Chan was back. “I’ve got to go, so I’ll see you then. And hey, ask Hansol for my number. I’m sure this is annoying for him.”

“Okay,” Seungkwan said again, and then the line was dead. Seungkwan was _reeling._ He pulled the phone away from his ear, just to stare at it. “What?” 

“What?” Hansol asked back. 

“Why did he agree to that?”

“Well, he talked to me yesterday, after everything,” Hansol said. “He did say that if I’m friends with you, you must not be too bad.”

“Gee, thanks,” Seungkwan couldn’t help but say. “But seriously! I _yelled_ at him. I _cursed,_ I was so awful.”

“Hey, maybe he did like it,” Hansol said, a cheeky grin on his face, Seungkwan letting out a yell and chucking Hansol’s phone back at him. Not before getting Chan’s number first, though. 

The first thing Seungkwan did when he got home was exhaust the entire archive of videos on Chan’s YouTube account. As it turned out, _The Real Thing_ was the only music video on Chan’s account that didn’t have choreography to it; in most of the videos, Chan was dancing. And… And he was good at it.

Good was an understatement, but Seungkwan’s mind was blank of just about everything else as he watched him. All of Chan’s actions were perfect, sure and powerful but graceful too, like he could feel the beat of the music in his bones as he moved. His body was lithe and light, but his thighs looked doubtlessly strong and Seungkwan—well, his first thought was that he wanted to bite them, and his mind wasn’t really able to move past that. 

In only half of the videos was Chan dancing alone. He had a sort of a crew that he danced with, three other people that either appeared all together, or one-on-one with him. They were talented too, and their social medias were all linked in the YouTube video descriptions: Xu Minghao, Wen Junhui, and Kwon Soonyoung, Seungkwan scrolling around and telling himself that he wasn’t trying to find out what their relations were to Chan. Soonyoung was immediately the most suspicious, with how often he told Chan “ _I love you!”_ online, and how cutely Chan acted when he responded back. It was much different than how Chan acted with him, at least. 

Some of the stuff on the YouTube channel was old and Seungkwan absolutely loved it, clicking on a dance cover of Apink’s _No No No_ and watching with delight as teenage Chan bounced around on screen. Some of the videos even had Chan’s dad in them, and some of them were more like practice room vlogs, filming and editing credits going to someone named _Jeon Wonwoo._

Seungkwan scrolled through Chan’s Twitter account next, focused mostly on media posts. He had to stop again on that picture Chan had sent him yesterday, just staring for a few moments before saving the photo to his camera roll. It was stupid, truly, how hot Chan was. 

Based on the interactions that Seungkwan could see, Chan was happy and teasing with his friends, and near-devastatingly cute with his fans. It was sweet, it truly was, and it took Seungkwan’s stomach growling for him to realize that he’d been at this for literal hours. That made him groan aloud, and he called Hansol. 

“You didn’t tell me,” he accused as soon as Hansol picked up.

“What?”

“About Chan. You didn’t tell me.” Hansol didn’t answer, and Seungkwan knew he was waiting for elaboration, so he sighed. “He’s actually really cute.”

Hansol burst out into loud laughter, and Seungkwan whined at him. 

“Shut up!” he exclaimed. “Don’t laugh, I’m serious.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Hansol said, the smile still in his voice. “Hey, this isn’t a bad thing, Seungkwan.”

“Yes it is!” Seungkwan said. “He hates me, and I think he’s cute. It’s pathetic, isn’t it?”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Hansol told him gently. “Seungkwan, he’s really nice. He didn’t have a single bad thing to say about you, before all of this started. I would never be friends with someone that hated you. You know that.”

“Well, he doesn’t _like_ me,” Seungkwan grumbled. 

“Do you want him to like you?” Hansol asked after a moment. “Because that’s different, you know, than just thinking he’s cute.”

“Shut up,” Seungkwan mumbled. “I don’t know.” 

It felt a little weird, going to meet up with Chan on Monday evening after learning so much about him. Joshua drove to the dance studio, he and Seungcheol waiting in the car as Seungkwan stepped inside. Hansol met him at the door. 

“Class ended early, but he’s still doing some practicing, so it might be a minute.” 

“Class?” Seungkwan echoed, surprised. “He takes lessons?”

“He’s one of the instructors.”

Oh. That made more sense. 

Sure enough, the sound of music became audible as Hansol led Seungkwan further into the building. One of the side rooms was ajar and Hansol stepped in easily, Seungkwan feeling a bit more hesitant as he walked through, making it only a few paces into the room before stopping. 

The sound wasn’t coming from speakers, but playing from a phone on the floor. It was quick, electronic, and was obviously made to be danced to, but the vocals sounded a bit hollow, an unpolished feeling to it that Seungkwan recognized as the track probably just being a demo. Something to choreograph to. 

Chan was in the middle of the room, dancing. It was all fluid but fast motion, and he was clearly very focused, the energy that was radiating from him powerful. Seungkwan felt transfixed, watching him move, jumping in surprise when someone spoke. 

“This part!” 

Seungkwan recognized the speaker as Wen Junhui, his face familiar from Seungkwan’s online excursion the day before. There were three people sitting in front of the mirror and watching Chan dance: Junhui, as well as Xu Minghao and Kwon Soonyoung. 

Minghao began to clap in time with the music, and Chan’s brows furrowed, but he timed his motions to each clap of Minghao’s hands. Both Junhui and Soonyoung cheered when the complicated sequence was over, Minghao smiling proudly in Chan’s direction. 

The next moves planted Chan’s feet apart and he stopped for a moment, one arm trailing behind him, the other hand resting on his hip. He slipped one thumb under the waistband of his sweatpants, meeting his own eyes in the mirror, a small, satisfied smile curling his lips as he shifted his hips, his eyes falling closed. Then he bit down on his bottom lip, just a bit, as his eyes reopened; he met Seungkwan’s gaze in the mirror, and Seungkwan felt his entire body go hot. 

“That’s my baby!” Soonyoung exclaimed with pride, and Chan’s face broke out into a complete smile, his cheeks going pink in embarrassment as he stopped dancing just to laugh. His head fell back, and his face was damp with sweat; Seungkwan’s eyes caught on a droplet that ran down Chan’s jaw, down his neck, resting in the hollow of his throat. Seungkwan felt himself thinking—yet again, and with a bit of anger now—about how stupidly hot Chan was. 

“Seungkwan’s here,” Hansol said, even going as far as to point at him, and Seungkwan felt the need to give an awkward little wave. He got waves in return from the three sitting on the floor, and Chan actually smiled at him. 

“Hi,” Seungkwan said to him. Chan ran a hand through his hair. 

“I’ll get cleaned up and then we’ll go, okay?” 

“Okay.”

Chan grabbed a bag from the floor next to Soonyoung and left the room, and Seungkwan felt a bit unbalanced, a bit awkward. Thankfully, Hansol was there. 

“This is Seungkwan,” Hansol said, gesturing to him for the other three, not even bothering to look up from his phone. Maybe not so thankfully then, because that was possibly the world’s worst ice breaker, but Hansol’s unbothered attitude did tell Seungkwan that he didn’t really have much to worry about in talking to Soonyoung, Junhui, and Minghao, and that did help relax him a little bit. It didn’t help in starting conversation, though. 

“I’m Boo Seungkwan,” he repeated uselessly, smiling at them. He realized that they were Chan’s friends, and since Chan didn’t like him, they might not either. And that seemed like it might be the case with Minghao, who simply stared back; Junhui waved though, and Soonyoung smiled, getting to his feet. 

“Yeah, I know!” he exclaimed, starting in Seungkwan’s direction. “I’m Soonyoung.” 

“I know,” Seungkwan responded sheepishly. “You’re in a lot of Chan’s videos. All of you are. And you dance really well!” 

“You’ve watched Chan’s videos?” Soonyoung asked in surprise. That piece of information even had Hansol glancing up, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“I… Yeah.” Seungkwan didn’t know why he felt so embarrassed. The videos were on YouTube. Anyone could look at them. This shouldn’t be a big deal, but he could feel a blush on his face. “You know, the ones on his YouTube channel. He’s really impressive; I can’t dance at all.” 

“Oh, everyone can dance,” Soonyoung said with a flippant hand wave. Then he seemed to hear the dismissiveness of the statement. “But Channie is really great! Of course he is. You know, he only puts the best stuff on there.” Then he gasped, and with a glint in his eye and a grin on his face, dashed away in Junhui’s direction before Seungkwan could blink. He snatched Junhui’s cell phone from his hands, and Junhui’s simple sigh at the antics had Seungkwan thinking that this wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. 

“What?” Seungkwan asked after a moment, because Soonyoung had run back over to him and was leaning close in an almost conspiratorial way, like he and Seungkwan were in on some secret together, except the secret was a mystery to Seungkwan, too. Maybe it was the content of Junhui’s camera roll, because Soonyoung was scrolling through it, and Seungkwan couldn’t help but think that some of these images weren’t meant for his eyes. 

“Junnie has some hilarious videos,” Soonyoung said. “I have to show you this one, Chan is _totally—”_

“Hey!” There was a shout from the side of the room and Chan was back, a bag slung over his shoulder, pointing at Soonyoung in accusation. He was dressed in ripped jeans and a simple white t-shirt, and while it was just a step up from the grey sweatpants and black shirt he’d been in earlier, he looked really good, especially with the spark he had in his eyes. Soonyoung let out a wild giggle and continued scrolling on Junhui’s phone, and Chan began running full-tilt in Soonyoung’s direction, looking well and ready to completely take Soonyoung out. That had Soonyoung yelling, running away, sliding on socked feet, and almost crashing face-first into one of the mirrored walls. Hansol, Junhui, and Minghao were all laughing, Seungkwan giggling too as he watched Chan try to tug Junhui’s phone from Soonyoung’s hands. The two were on the floor, yelling and yelping and grappling like children. 

Some Chinese ballad started blasting from the phone’s speaker, but Chan finally managed to wrestle the device away, struggling to his feet, his eyes shining with triumph. Soonyoung was sitting on the floor and slumped against the wall, showing no interest in fighting back, his eyes closed and hand on his stomach as he giggled uncontrollably. 

“We should go, before they embarrass me,” Chan said, brushing his hair from his face as he leaned down to give Junhui his phone back. Junhui didn’t thank him, or turn the music off.

“Wrestling like that wasn’t embarrassing?” Seungkwan asked, raising his eyebrows. Chan raised his eyebrows right back, stooping to pick his bag back up.

“Nope. I won.” 

That had Seungkwan rolling his eyes. He and Chan said their goodbyes to everyone left in the studio, again getting waves in return, going to the car Joshua had parked in the parking lot. Seungkwan opened the door for Chan, climbing in behind him.

“Uh, hi,” Chan said, looking a bit hesitant as he glanced at Seungcheol. His discomfort made Seungkwan laugh, Chan shooting him a look that was part annoyance and part a plea for Seungkwan to do something to alleviate the awkwardness. But it was too funny, letting Chan just sit there and fidget instead, the drive quiet aside from Seungkwan’s muffled giggles while Joshua took them to a nearby park. 

“Walk around for as long as you need, then come back,” Joshua said. “This place is technically closed, so no one else should be here, but we’re only a phone call away, okay?”

Seungkwan nodded. Joshua and Seungcheol were going to stay in the car.

“Oh, and Jeonghan wanted me to remind you to not walk in the trees too much,” Seungcheol said, glancing up from his phone. “No hats or face masks. Make yourselves visible. And…” The last part he read from his cell phone screen, word for word. “‘If Kwannie doesn’t act disgustingly cute with this boy, I’m going to talk the company into making him dye his hair green. So there’s that, too.” 

“Kwannie, huh?” Chan asked.

“Oh, shut up,” Seungkwan grumbled, opening the car door and grabbing Chan by the arm, yanking him out. “He knows green isn’t my color.” 

That just made Chan laugh, and then they were on their own. The silence lasted a couple of minutes, Seungkwan trying hard to think of something to say, turning to Chan before he’d even opened his mouth. 

“So, are you even old enough to be a teacher?” he finally asked. Chan shot him a look.

“I’m old enough,” he retorted. 

“Younger than me, though.”

“And you’re not a teacher.” Seungkwan knew that Chan could easily dance circles around him, so he didn’t argue the point any further. Chan had his eyebrows raised triumphantly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “But… I’ve been officially training in dance for the past seven years, and actually dancing even longer than that—my dad was a dance teacher too—so I hope I’m good enough to give lessons.”

“You definitely are,” Seungkwan told him quickly. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like that. You’re really good.” Then he just couldn’t help himself; it felt weird to give Chan too many compliments in a row. “Your _No No No_ cover is definitely my favorite.” 

Chan stared at him for just a moment, then his mouth completely fell open. 

“You _didn’t.”_ His voice was a gasp.

“What?” Seungkwan asked back. “It’s on the internet. It’s not my fault I saw it.”

“That is so many years old though! You had to scroll so far to get to that one!” Chan covered his face with his hands, and Seungkwan burst out laughing, nudging Chan in the shoulder. Chan shoved at him and Seungkwan stumbled away a few paces, unable to stop giggling. “I have to delete that. Ugh.”

“No, don’t!” Seungkwan didn’t want that video to be a lost relic; not before he could download it, at least. “I’m serious, it’s cute! Your _Feeling Good_ cover is actually my favorite, I think. You looked…” He swallowed a bit, remembering Chan’s fluid motions, the way his body moved under his sheer white shirt. “You look really good.” 

Chan was looking at him quietly and Seungkwan was too embarrassed to stand it, grabbing at Chan’s arm. 

“Don’t walk so far away,” he chastised, pulling at him; surprisingly, Chan let himself be dragged. “If you act like I’m going to give you a disease, no one will believe that we’re friends.” 

“You are going to give me a disease,” Chan mumbled, but he stuffed his hand back into his pocket, so that the arm Seungkwan had looped around his bicep was stuck to his side. Seungkwan couldn’t pull away now, even if he wanted to. They were quiet again, Seungkwan stunned to silence by the closeness, by how warm Chan’s body was against his arm. They… They were doing this now, and it was doing unfair things to the way Seungkwan’s heart was beating in his chest. Okay then. 

“Soonyoung is the one that’s taught me the most, I think,” Chan said, breaking the silence. “He’s really amazing.”

“Isn’t he like… The same age as you, though?” 

“He’s three years older.” Chan shrugged. “We’ve danced together since I was fourteen. I really love him.”

“He seems nice,” Seungkwan agreed, nodding. “Is he like… your boyfriend, then?” 

He’d tried to make the question casual, but didn’t really think he’d succeeded. Chan stared at him for a full five seconds, then burst out laughing. 

“Oh, _no.”_ The word was emphatic. “He’s my best friend. And he’s very, very taken, so you don’t have to worry about that.” 

Seungkwan had to bite hard on the inside of his cheek to avoid asking what _that_ was supposed to mean. Was he being that obvious?

“My best friend is Hansol,” he said uselessly; Chan already knew that. “He’s really… He might be my only friend. I mean, Joshua and Seungcheol are friends now, but we met through work.”

“Hey, you said I was your friend. You can’t go back on that now,” Chan told him, eyebrows raised. “That hurts my feelings.”

“No it doesn’t. Shut up.” Seungkwan swatted at him, and Chan laughed a bit, laughing harder when his mirth caused an indignant look to grow on Seungkwan’s face. Chan stuck his foot out in retaliation, Seungkwan tripping on it, falling for only a moment before Chan caught him. It was a lot for Seungkwan, for Chan to anticipate the slip in his center of gravity and reach out to wrap an arm around him at the perfect moment. Seungkwan couldn’t help the yelp that left his mouth, and he clung to Chan’s jacket, looking over the shit-eating grin on Chan’s face and hitting him in the arm with a free hand once he was steady on his feet. Chan pouted at him, rubbing at where Seungkwan had hit him, the action dramatic, because Seungkwan knew he hadn’t hit him hard. 

“Hansol is so chill,” Chan said, giving Seungkwan a slight tug, and they began walking again. “No wonder he’s the only person in the world that can put up with you.” 

“Plenty of people can put up with me!” Seungkwan insisted. “I’m actually really professional!” He could tell that Chan didn’t believe him, so he glanced over, curling in closer. “You just—I don’t know. You have a way of pushing my buttons.” 

Chan was looking at him again, but this time Seungkwan looked back. He almost asked about it, about why Chan’s eyes were on him like that, but then Chan spoke. 

“Want to go get food or something?”

“Get food?” Seungkwan echoed after a moment. 

“Yeah. Like, go eat somewhere. You know, with me.”

“But—we’re supposed to walk around here,” Seungkwan said hesitantly. 

“If people are taking pictures of us at a park, they can follow us to a restaurant,” Chan argued. “It doesn’t have to be fancy. It can even be fast food, if you want. If that won’t like, offend you or whatever.” 

“Oh my god, I eat fast food,” Seungkwan grumbled at him. “But no, I…”

He trailed off, feeling awkward, wanting to say yes and knowing he had to say no. The silence was uncomfortable for a couple of moments, then Chan let go of his arm.

“Yeah, okay. That’s fine,” he said. His tone was clipped and Seungkwan hated it, letting himself cling onto Chan’s arm again.

“No, no, it’s not like that,” he said quickly; he didn’t want Chan to think he was rejecting him. “I just… I can’t. My company put me on a diet. I already ate all I’m allowed to have for the day, so…”

He shrugged, feeling a bit uncomfortable with the admission, and Chan came to a complete stop, giving Seungkwan a blatant up-and-down.

“A diet?” His voice was loud in incredulity. “You?”

“Yes? Who else?” Seungkwan wasn’t sure how to react. Chan looked over him again, and this time Seungkwan found himself trying not to blush.

“But you look fine,” he said. “Skinny, even. Fuck them; you can eat, come on.” 

“No, seriously,” Seungkwan said, digging his heels in when Chan tried to tug on him. “I’m on a diet, and you’re not worth getting yelled at for. I’m sorry.” 

“They’ll yell at you?” Chan asked. “You don’t have to let someone else tell you when you get to eat.”

Seungkwan wished it were that simple. “That ‘someone’ is also who decides if I get paid, so yeah, I kind of do.” 

Chan looked at him for a moment more before his face set in a kind of determination. Seungkwan half expected a full blown argument, Chan’s next words catching him off guard. 

“Want to come to my place, then? It’s not far from here. I’m tired of walking, anyway.” 

That offer was even more surprising than the food one, and again, Seungkwan looked at him for a moment, almost unable to believe that Chan was serious. But he didn’t have a reason to say no, and after a moment of searching, realized that he didn’t want to, either. He wanted to go to Chan’s apartment.

“Yeah, okay.” 

“Cool.” Chan stuck Seungkwan’s arm close to his side again, walking with a bit more purpose, and it wasn’t until they were out of the trees and going down the street that it all sort of hit him.

He was going to Chan’s apartment, away from cameras and managers and bodyguards. Just the two of them, alone. With his newfound, half rapidly-developing crush, half _you-’re-just-so-hot_ feelings towards Chan, it was a turn he hadn’t expected to need to deal with, and he was panicking, just a little.

He tried to force the feeling down, tried to tell himself that Chan didn’t even know he was gay, that Chan wasn’t hitting on him, that Chan probably was actually tired from a day of teaching dance classes and just wanted to put his feet up. That had to be the more accurate version of events, despite how much Seungkwan would have wanted it the other way.

Seungkwan filled his nervous silence with chatter, just so he might be able to hear Chan laugh, and by the time they were on the street Chan said he lived on, they were mid-argument about taking vocal lessons.

“I’ve never had any!” Chan was saying. Boasting, really, though Seungkwan didn’t really see how that was anything he could boast about.

“Yeah, and I have, and I’m about twenty times better than you.”

“Oh, twenty? Really? Ouch.” Chan glanced over at him. “Come on, at least give me ten.”

“Ten was before I started training,” Seungkwan said, before gasping in inspiration. “Hold on, I need to show you—”

He cut himself off as he unwound himself from around Chan’s arm, pulling his cell phone from his pocket. There was a video of him that he knew was on the internet, something that was almost ten years old now, a clip of him singing that had gone viral when it was put up on YouTube and had led to multiple agencies reaching out and offering to sign him. 

When he pulled the video up, Chan gasped in recognition. 

“Wait, the singing kid—that’s you?!” he asked, looking at Seungkwan in shock. “My whole school talked about this when it went viral. And it’s you?” 

“What can I say?” Seungkwan asked back, batting his eyes exaggeratedly, unable to keep up the pseudo-coy act and beginning to laugh. “I’m famous.” 

“You’re awful,” Chan responded, but he was laughing, pulling Seungkwan’s phone from his hand to watch the video again, despite the way he’d just said he was already familiar with it. 

“Entertainment agencies started contacting me, once this video really took off,” Seungkwan said, listening to his own young, untrained voice. “I—I mean, I could have gone anywhere I wanted. My agency tried to train me in dance too, but I was absolutely hopeless. I don’t think they were looking to debut a solo ballad singer, but I’ve been doing pretty well.” 

“Pretty well,” Chan echoed under his breath, the mockery sarcastic, and Seungkwan resisted the urge to trip him. “But—hold on.”

They’d reached an apartment door, Chan pulling a set of keys from his pocket, but it was evident as he was unlocking the door that arriving at their destination wasn’t why they’d stopped; Chan was staring off a bit, like he was trying to remember something. 

“Didn’t one of your songs have choreography?” 

Seungkwan felt his cheeks burn. “I’ll kill you,” he warned, but Chan was not deterred in the slightest as he pushed the door open. Seungkwan knew what Chan was talking about. For his second single, his agency had gone with an older, jazzy sound for him, and he’d had standing mic choreography to go along with it. The movements had been simple, repetitive, and all in the arms, designed to be easy to replicate in the hopes that the dance—and, consequently, the song—would go viral. And it had worked, especially in the middle-aged, empty nest housewife demographic of Seungkwan’s fans, the sweet older ladies that said he had a timeless voice, and wanted to wrap him in blankets and feed him soup. 

The lights clicked on, revealing a living room that wasn’t too messy, but definitely lived in, a couch and chair around a small coffee table and a television. Chan was smirking at Seungkwan, and held his hands up by his cheeks, covering one eye at a time with wide-spread fingers, wiggling his neck in an embarrassingly perfect rendition of the choreography that it had taken Seungkwan weeks to get right. 

Seungkwan let out a long-suffering groan, covering his face with his hands, partially because the teasing was embarrassing, and partially because he was now alone, with Chan, in Chan’s apartment, and he was trying not to freak out about what could come next. He wanted to do something, something subtle. So he let his entire body flop extravagantly across the length of Chan’s couch. 

“You are so dramatic,” Chan said with a laugh, kicking lightly at Seungkwan’s foot.

“You’re making fun of me!” Seungkwan exclaimed in protest. “Besides,” and here it was, Seungkwan rolling to look at Chan as he spoke, wanting to make this clear before the evening progressed any further: “I’m a closeted top idol. I have every right to be dramatic.”

Chan unzipped his jacket, pulling it off his shoulders and laying it across the arm of the couch, laughing again. “Closeted?”

“Yeah.” He hadn’t expected Chan to laugh. “What about it?”

“Oh, it’s just—does this closet have a glass door? Because everyone can see you in there, you know.” 

“Oh my _god,_ shut up!” Seungkwan wanted to throw something at Chan, but casting around offered nothing smaller than a couch cushion or softer than a shoe so he didn’t, pulling himself into a sitting position and covering his red face with his hands. "I hate you, seriously."

Chan was laughing, fully laughing at him now, the sound trailing away as he walked into his kitchen and opened his fridge. 

“Want a beer?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder, and Seungkwan shrugged. 

“Sure, thanks.” 

Seungkwan took a moment to call Joshua, who was very surprised to hear where Seungkwan had ended up, and while he didn’t say it, obviously wished that Seungkwan had consulted him first. 

“I’ll send you the address,” Seungkwan promised, as Chan sat next to him on the couch, Seungkwan accepting the opened beer bottle offered to him. “I won’t leave on my own; you can pick me up.”

“Just… Stay safe,” Joshua said, his next words delicate. “Let me know if you’re staying the night, okay?” 

“O-oh.” Seungkwan hadn’t—he hadn’t really considered that, but it wasn’t all that outlandish of an assumption for Joshua to make; it was getting late, after all. “Yeah, okay. I will.” 

“And have fun. Don’t kill each other.”

“Yes, Mom. I’ll eat my vegetables, and say please and thank you, and clean up the pillow fort before it’s time to go home. I get it.”

Joshua just gave a light exhale of a laugh into the receiver. 

“And—”

“And I care about you too, Joshua.”

“Fine!” Joshua laughed. “Just hang up on me, then.”

“Mwah!” Seungkwan exclaimed into the phone, then did exactly that. He took a drink of the beer in his hand, the cold carbonation catching him off guard, Chan laughing at his expression. 

“Shut up,” Seungkwan told him, nudging his shoulder. “Also—what made you want to start singing?” 

It was surprising, really, how easily conversation flowed. And, begrudgingly, Seungkwan had to admit that Chan was “the real thing” like he claimed to be. His passion was incredible to watch, just from hearing him talk about his goals, his dreams, and his wants; it made Seungkwan nostalgic for the first few years of his career, when he was also trying hard at everything he did, willing to bite into the entertainment agency despite how it might taste, and pull himself up by his teeth. 

It was also incredibly attractive to listen to, and really, _really_ made Seungkwan want to kiss him. 

A natural lull in conversation had Seungkwan sighing and leaning against the back of the couch, letting his head roll to the side to glance at Chan. Chan glanced back. 

“What?” Chan asked him. 

“I'm just looking,” Seungkwan responded, in the mood to just be honest. Chan smiled. 

“That song, Seungkwan…” Chan turned his near-empty beer bottle in his hands a couple of times before placing it onto the coffee table. “I’m serious, honestly, when I say that it’s not about you.”

“It has to be, though,” Seungkwan countered. “The _Wi-Fi_ reference? _Forsake?_ Come on.”

“Okay,” Chan said, sighing, leaning back and resting against the couch too. “Fine. Those lines are about you.”

“I knew it!” Seungkwan exclaimed, thrusting his pointer finger into Chan’s face. “I knew it.”

“But just those two lines!” Chan exclaimed back, sitting up. “I was stuck on lyrics for that part, and I’m familiar with your discography, so I just… It fit, that’s all.”

“Oh? Lee Chan?” Seungkwan pulled himself up, resting his forearms against his knees and glancing at him. “You’re familiar with my discography?” 

“Shut up, you know your voice is amazing,” Chan said, nudging him. “Plus, Hansol plays your music a lot. He really likes you, for some reason.”

That made Seungkwan laugh, and Chan laughed too. 

“It’s kind of just about the whole agency. The whole—the whole concept of agencies. And I don’t even really hate that, either.” Chan sighed a little. “It’s, you know, how rappers brag about being rich and drinking booze and having sex. None of that is real.” 

“Really cool way to tell me you’re a poor, sober virgin,” Seungkwan told him, cracking up a second later when Chan rolled his eyes and shoved at him.

“Hey, I’ve got a job, and I’m drinking right now,” Chan pointed out, Seungkwan nodding along as he tilted his head back to drain the rest of the beer from his own bottle. “And you’re here.”

Seungkwan choked. Chan didn’t even pat him on the back, a slight grin on his face when Seungkwan glanced over at him. 

“Fuck you,” he managed out when he could breathe again, and Chan just laughed. 

“I never hated you, Seungkwan. I had a really high opinion of you, actually.”

“Oh.” Seungkwan remembered what Hansol had said, about how Chan hadn’t ever had a bad word to say about him. How he would never befriend someone that disliked him. That Chan _didn’t_ dislike him. Then Chan’s sentence fully washed over him, and he noticed something else. “Had, huh? Ouch.”

“Yeah, well, then you sent your four and a half million Twitter followers after me, so…”

“Fair,” Seungkwan conceded, and Chan leaned forwards to pick his beer up, throwing the rest of his drink back too and replacing it on the table with an empty glass _click._ “And then I called you up and asked you for a favor. A really winning one-two punch.”

“Exactly.” 

Seungkwan sighed, placing a hand on Chan’s knee and giving it a light squeeze. Chan watched his hand for a moment before looking back to his face.

“I’m sorry,” Seungkwan told him. “Really, I am. I shouldn’t have done all of that. And… And normally, I wouldn’t have. You just picked like… The worst day to post that video.”

“Oh?” Chan asked, eyebrows raised. “Tell me, how did my release mess with your day?”

“I’m serious!” Seungkwan insisted, squeezing Chan’s knee again. “You need to understand—I’d just finished a nine hour modeling day, doing a photoshoot with Kim Mingyu.”

“Kim Mingyu? That runway model guy who does all of those commercials?” Chan asked, and he sounded so incredulous that it was a bit insulting.

“Hey! Don’t act so surprised,” Seungkwan protested. “I’ve modeled with him before. But spending so much time with him, I mean… Don’t get me wrong, he’s nice, he’s unbelieveably nice actually, but he’s also so handsome that he activates my fight or flight response.”

That made Chan melt against the couch cushions in laughter. “And you had to fight me?” he asked. “You couldn’t fight him?” 

“Have you seen him?!” Seungkwan asked back, throwing an arm out as though gesturing to a Mingyu that was standing behind the couch, and Chan burst into giggles again. “No way! At least you’re shorter than me.” 

“Not by much,” Chan protested, but the words were soft, an exhale from the laughter, the light of amusement still in his eyes. 

“I was feeling insecure, and I lashed out, and I’m sorry,” Seungkwan told him. “I’m the one that actually made this all about me. I shouldn’t have done that.” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Chan said. He’d fallen forward a bit, leaning towards Seungkwan. Seungkwan hadn’t really noticed, too caught up in trying to apologize, and when he met Chan’s eyes he felt his breath catch in his throat. He had to use every bit of self control he had to keep his eyes on Chan’s, instead of letting them slip to his mouth. “If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t be here.” 

Seungkwan knew it was himself, this time, that learned in. Chan’s eyes were traveling over his face. 

“You like me being here?” 

“Yeah,” Chan said. His eyes fell down to Seungkwan’s lips for just a moment, and Seungkwan could feel his heartbeat in his throat. “Yeah, I think I do.” 

Seungkwan pushed forward and kissed him. 

Chan gasped against his mouth. The reaction had Seungkwan pulling back, wondering for a single, wild moment if he’d managed to misread _everything,_ but Chan didn’t let him get far, holding his waist, one small breath between them. 

“You surprised me,” he said, his voice soft. 

“Sorry,” Seungkwan murmured back. 

“Don’t apologize,” Chan told him. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

“Hey, Chan?” Seungkwan met Chan’s eyes. “Stop being an idiot and kiss me.” 

Chan laughed, and while it was one of the more perfect sounds in the world, it was a bit counterproductive to kissing him again. Chan recovered quickly, his hands finding Seungkwan’s hips, his fingers curling as he leaned in, hesitating for just a second more before closing the distance. Seungkwan brought one hand to the side of Chan’s neck to cup his cheek, to tilt Chan’s head just a bit, to deepen the kiss. Chan let him, going pliant and kissing back, leaning back against the couch and pulling Seungkwan with him as he let his mouth open. 

Seungkwan couldn’t help the way his exhale turned into a sigh, Chan’s fingertips slipping under the hem of his shirt. Then Chan bit at Seungkwan’s bottom lip as Seungkwan pulled away to breathe, the resulting moan louder than Seungkwan anticipated it would be. He felt his whole body flush with embarrassment, and when he opened his eyes he saw Chan _smirking,_ and well. Two could play at that game. Seungkwan got up onto his knees on the couch and positioned himself squarely over Chan’s lap, boxing Chan’s hips in with his knees. He was taller than Chan like this and he took advantage of it, tilting Chan’s chin up, pushing close, kissing hard. 

Chan’s hands trailed up and down his sides under his shirt, his fingers sliding gently, before slipping down, his thumbs playing at the waistband of Seungkwan’s jeans. But the jeans were too tight to do much else, Chan’s hands finding Seungkwan’s ass next, and that was where they stayed while Seungkwan slowly sunk himself down to sit in Chan’s lap, pressing a few kisses down Chan’s jaw.

“Fuck,” Chan managed out, the sound more of a groan than anything else, and Seungkwan pulled back, though he kept his arms around Chan’s neck. 

“Is this…” He wanted to ask Chan about this, talk to Chan about this, ask him if this was real and if Chan actually liked him, or if they were just making out. But he didn’t know how to in a way that wasn’t hilariously, horrifically needy. “I—I’ve really liked getting to know you, and, and I like you, but I don’t know…”

“Seungkwan, what part about tonight did you think _wasn’t_ me flirting with you?” Chan asked him, looking slightly incredulous. “Has it not been obvious, or… Are you blind or something?”

“Shut up,” Seungkwan said, feeling his face go red, but his lips curled up at the words, and then Chan was grinning. “I just, I don’t know, wanted to make sure.” 

“It’s alright.” Chan slid his thumbs gently up and down in a way that Seungkwan thought was supposed to be comforting, and probably would be, if his hands weren’t still on Seungkwan’s ass. “Nothing about you has been anything I expected, but I like all of it. I like you.” 

Seungkwan fell forwards, hiding his face where Chan’s neck met his shoulder. 

“Good,” he mumbled, and Chan laughed again, wrapping his arms around the small of Seungkwan’s waist. Seungkwan placed a few quick kisses to his neck, because his face was there and he could, before pulling back to rest his wrists loosely on Chan’s shoulders. 

“Hey, so… You are being way too cute for how turned on I am right now,” Chan told him, the words light, a little amused and a little breathy, and Seungkwan felt his face go pink all over again. He could feel, thanks to how he’d situated himself in Chan’s lap, that Chan definitely was turned on, which was… Which was good, because Seungkwan was in a similar situation. He moved to kiss Chan again, and their lips had only touched for a moment before he remembered something important. 

“—hnm, wait, wait.” 

He pulled back, completely leaning away and making to get up. Chan made a nondescript noise of protest, keeping his grip on Seungkwan’s waist. Thankfully Seungkwan didn’t end up needing to leave Chan’s lap, able to lean back enough and extend an arm to the coffee table to grab his phone. He called Joshua. 

“Time to pick you up?” Joshua asked, Chan close enough to hear and giving Seungkwan a bit of a desperate look. 

“No, I…” Seungkwan let a hand trail up Chan’s neck, lightly massaging his earlobe. “I’m staying the night.” 

Chan surged forwards at those words, pressing kisses to Seungkwan’s neck. Seungkwan squirmed, the fingers of his free hand twisting up in Chan’s hair, trying very hard to stay quiet. 

“Okay,” Joshua said. He didn’t sound surprised. “Cheol is going to be completely scandalized, by the way. And now he owes me money.”

Seungkwan snorted, Chan giggling in his ear. 

“Don’t make bets,” he chastised, and he could almost hear Joshua’s eye roll.

“You have a meeting tomorrow morning. I’ll call you before I come get you, okay? So you have time to put your clothes back on.”

“Oh, stop it,” Seungkwan muttered at him. Chan was still giggling. “Also thank you, and I love you, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Be safe, have fun,” Joshua responded, and Seungkwan ended the call, placing his phone down on the couch cushion. 

“That’s okay, right?” he asked. He’d assumed by Chan’s enthusiastic reaction that it was, but still. Chan nodded. 

“My roommate is already spending the night at his boyfriend’s place, so it’s kind of perfect,” Chan told him, Seungkwan letting out a little hum.

“I like being kind of perfect,” he responded, and Chan grinned.

“Good, because you kind of are.”

Seungkwan stared at him. “That—that was _awful,”_ he said, and Chan laughed loudly. “If you ever say something stupid like that to me again, I’ll leave.”

“No you won’t,” Chan had a smile on his lips, his arms still around Seungkwan’s waist.

“I’ll shut you up,” Seungkwan warned.

“I’d like to see you—” Chan started, but he didn’t have time to finish the phrase, the word “try” stopped by Seungkwan’s lips. 

It was a bright and painful six in the morning when Seungkwan’s phone went off. He groaned and squinted, reaching towards the sound automatically, something falling to the floor as he scooped the device from the bedside table to accept the call, pressing it to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Your meeting is at ten.” It was Joshua’s voice. “I’m picking you up at eight. But I can come get you now if you think you’ll need extra time to get ready, or just want to be home for a little while.”

It was very considerate of Joshua to be up this early, willing to come get Seungkwan in case he wanted some time alone before he had to be in a meeting with the CEO of the company. But it was so early that Seungkwan wanted to strangle him, just a little bit. 

“Eight is fine,” he mumbled, and next to him in bed, Chan shifted slightly. 

“Okay,” Joshua said. “I’ll see you then.”

Seungkwan made a small, affirmative sound, and Joshua hung up. Seungkwan tried to replace his phone on the bedside table with his eyes closed, dropped it on the floor instead, and simply left it there.

“Do you have to leave?” Chan’s voice, groggy and rough with sleep. Seungkwan turned to curl towards him under the covers, pressing into the warmth and body heat. 

“Not yet,” he answered, and Chan slung both an arm and a leg around him, nestling closer, and Seungkwan let himself doze off again.

An hour later, the recognizable rhythm of Michael Jackson’s _Beat It_ began blasting across the room. Seungkwan scrunched up his whole face, groaning and rolling away from the sound and as a result, away from Chan. Chan groaned too, keeping on hand on Seungkwan's hip, reaching with the other to grab his phone. After a few moments the music stopped, and Seungkwan opened his eyes. 

“Wait, is your alarm a Michael Jackson song?” he asked after a moment.

“Maybe,” Chan responded. “I need to get ready to go. I have work in an hour.” 

“No...” Seungkwan whined, but Chan was already moving, already getting up, the sheets falling from his naked body as he sat up. He leaned down and kissed Seungkwan before he was gone from the room, and Seungkwan heard the shower start to run, letting his eyes fall closed. What he didn’t expect was for Chan to come back; there was a dip in the mattress just a minute later and then Chan was over him, his hair falling down from his forehead, his hands pressing into the mattress on each side of Seungkwan’s shoulders.

“Want to take a shower?” he asked.

“Oh,” Seungkwan said quickly, shaking his head. He didn’t want to interrupt Chan’s morning routine. “It’s okay, you can take one, I’ll just do it later when I get back to my apartment.”

“Okay, I’m going to pretend you’re just still asleep, and rephrase that for you,” Chan said. There was a small smile playing on his lips. “Seungkwan, I want you to take a shower with me. So get up.” 

Seungkwan couldn’t do much more than stare in surprise, Chan pulling him from bed. The water was warm when they got in, Seungkwan unable to remember the last time he’d been so casually intimate with someone. He kept waiting for that next morning awkwardness to come, but it didn’t as they got clean, it didn’t as they dried off, and it didn’t as they returned to Chan’s bedroom, Seungkwan searching for his outfit from yesterday while Chan went to his closet.

“Don’t put those back on,” Chan told him, already rifling through his clothes. “I’ll give you something to wear. You’re allowed to like, be seen in public in sweatpants, right?” 

“Yes,” Seungkwan said, rolling his eyes, Chan laughing a little as he threw him a pair of red sweatpants. Chan tugged a pair of pants on himself too, tossing a loose t-shirt to Seungkwan, watching as he pulled it over his head. 

“What?” Seungkwan asked him, and Chan shrugged.

“The tabloids had better believe us, because I’m pretty sure I can act like I like you now,” he said, and Seungkwan rolled his eyes again, but he couldn’t help a grin, sticking his tongue out in Chan’s direction. Before he could react, Chan stepped close and leaned forward, licking at Seungkwan’s tongue. 

“Gross!” Seungkwan exclaimed, hitting at him, Chan dancing away with a laugh.

“What, you _want_ me to stick my tongue down your throat, but I can’t lick you?” he asked. 

“That’s different and you know it,” Seungkwan told him, reaching back to grab one of Chan’s pillows, chucking it at him. Chan caught the pillow as it bounced off the side of his head, then raised it up and began advancing in Seungkwan direction. Seungkwan yelped dramatically, throwing two more pillows before Chan was on him, hitting him in the side once before Seungkwan also got the pillow in his hands and tried to wrestle it away. Chan’s blankets were kicked off his bed, Chan beginning to giggle, and before long Seungkwan was laughing too hard at the ridiculousness of it all to fight back. He just laid on his back on the bed, a shirtless Chan resting against his chest, their legs tangled together, the pillow forgotten on the bed next to Seungkwan’s head. 

Chan kissed him again, slow and deep, resting his small, gentle fingers against Seungkwan’s cheek. He kissed Seungkwan until he was breathless, pulling away to relax his weight against Seungkwan’s body and nuzzle the bridge of his nose under Seungkwan’s jaw.

“You’re so sexy,” he murmured into Seungkwan’s skin, and Seungkwan couldn’t help a small, incredulous sound.

“No, I’m not.” Chan was the one that was an incredible, muscled dancer, was the one all half-naked and on top of him. Chan lifted his face to raise an eyebrow at him. 

“Okay, says who?”

Seungkwan was marketed as cute, or he was marketed as pretty. He knew that. 

“Nobody has ever, ever thought that about me, I promise,” he told Chan, and Chan went even more incredulous. 

“Was—was last night not enough proof?” he asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “Do I need to grope your ass for the first time and actually groan out loud again, or…?”

“You can’t do something ‘again’ for the first time, idiot,” Seungkwan said, and Chan made a noise not unlike a growl, pushing Seungkwan down a bit more into the mattress. The kisses didn’t stop until Seungkwan’s phone went off, a text tone from Joshua, a notification that meant he was on his way. Chan’s mouth was kiss-bitten and pink, his hair a damp mess as he got up out of bed, and Seungkwan took it all in; Chan standing by his closet, the messy room, the way Chan’s sheets and pillows were all over the floor. As Chan began pulling a shirt over his head, Seungkwan took a picture. 

Chan was only in the photo from the waist down, the focus on the mess of pillows and clothes on Chan’s floor, as well as half of Chan’s bedspread. Seungkwan opened the Twitter app—technically, he wasn’t even supposed to be able to do this, but Seungcheol was easily manipulated and had told Seungkwan what Jeonghan had changed his Twitter password to—posting the picture with a short caption. He wanted something, just a little something, to commemorate how happy he felt.

_your room is such a mess, @leejungchan_

Again, it took about two minutes for Jeonghan to call him. Seungkwan decided to put the call on speaker, so Chan could hear it too.

“I wanted you to make a new friend, not tell the entire world you got laid last night,” Jeonghan said dryly, and Seungkwan covered his mouth with his hand as Chan let out a bark of laughter.

“Well, maybe you should PR him into being my boyfriend then,” Seungkwan said, meeting Chan’s eyes. Chan’s face broke out into a smile, casting his gaze to the floor, and Seungkwan smiled so hard his cheeks began to ache.

“I’m good, but I’m not a miracle worker,” Jeonghan complained. 

“Hey!” Seungkwan yelped, offended, and Jeonghan sighed. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said, hanging up, and somehow that was even funnier, Chan coming over to sit next to Seungkwan on his bed as he laughed.

“You don’t need to publicity-stunt me into being your boyfriend, you know,” he said, his weight braced against his arms, his palms flat against the edge of the mattress, glancing at Seungkwan. “You just need to ask.”

“What if you don’t want to date me, though?” Seungkwan asked back. It was a real, genuine fear, but he couldn’t ask it in a serious tone so Chan just rolled his eyes, shoving at him. Seungkwan caught his arm, pulled him close, and pressed a kiss to his lips. 

“You’re going to make me late for work,” Chan murmured against his mouth. 

“Good.”

“Asshole.” 

“That’s not a very nice word to say around your boyfriend,” Seungkwan chastised. “I’m breaking up with you.”

“We’re not even dating,” Chan reminded him.

“Alright Chan, when are you free next week?” Seungkwan asked. Chan blinked at him for a moment. 

“Uh,” he said eloquently, and Seungkwan wondered—worried—if pushing the hypothetical into reality this quickly had been a bad idea. That Chan either didn’t actually want him like this, or didn’t think he’d be worth all the strings that came with it.

He should have known, even by now, that Chan didn’t back down, even when up against Seungkwan’s busy schedule, or his PR manager, or his millions of Twitter followers. 

“Next Tuesday,” he answered. “I’m not busy Wednesday, so we can meet as late as you need to. We can go from there. Take me on a date, and we’ll see.”

“Oh,” Seungkwan said back, equally surprised by the thoughtful offer, and Chan laughed, raising an eyebrow.

“Come on, if you say you’re going to break up with me, you have to date me first,” he reminded Seungkwan. 

“I—right. Yeah. I’m going to have to date you until you fall in love with me, though. You know, for maximum effect,” Seungkwan said. Chan looked on the delighted side of amused, his face breaking out into a smile, placing a hand on the back of Seungkwan's neck.

“I really can’t stand you,” he murmured, but he was already leaning in for another kiss; Seungkwan smiled back, wrapping his arms around Chan’s waist and pulling him in. 

**Author's Note:**

> I am [here](https://twitter.com/thanku4urIove) on twitter!!


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